The sky was bright and clear and the heady scent of summer flowers drifted through the forest on a cool breeze. Deep within the heart of the forest an ancient, ivy clad tower stood watch over a quiet and unspoilt glade. Grey wisps of smoke rose from a crooked stone chimney and drifted away on the light winds. A tiny sparrow chirped happily as it flitted between the branches of a large oak in search of fat, juicy insects. It was a perfect summer’s day and the tiny bird was filled with the joys of life, at least until a heavy crossbow bolt suddenly thudded into the tree branch beside. The tiny bird shrieked in terror and flashed off into the safety of the forest. High on the top of the tower a small dark figure shook its fist in the sparrow’s direction and resumed pacing back and forth around the battlements.
Bork Pigswiller looked over the crumbling parapet at the leafy green forest and shuddered unconsciously. The hateful prettiness of the landscape hurt his beady red eyes almost as much as the intolerably bright sunshine. His large square ears twitched nervously at every cheerful chirp of birdsong and a single thick vein on his sloping forehead bulged dangerously in time with his throbbing headache. He busied himself reloading his crossbow and cursed the incessant noise of the song birds all around. He had already wasted half a dozen bolts on the little nuisances without a single successful shot, a fact that only multiplied his anger and frustration.
Bork hated summer, he hated forests and most of all he hated the wide-open sunlit sky. It was unnatural for a goblin to be outdoors, he thought as he shook his fist at the fluffy white clouds. Goblins are underground creatures, cave dwellers and night raiders, nothing good ever happened to a goblin that was in the sun too long.
A sudden flurry of movement caught snapped him out of his self-pitying reverie and he whirled around with his trust crossbow at the ready. His pulse quickened and his eyes narrowed evilly as he took aim at the source of the movement, it was a fat grey squirrel and it looked at him with surprise. He sighed quietly and lowered the crossbow. The squirrel scampered towards him and sat up on its hind legs sniffing the air. Bork hissed through his small pointed teeth and shook his head; he hated squirrels. The fat squirrel looked around furtively as another, smaller and skinnier squirrel clambered up onto the parapet beside it.
Bork looked down at the two rodents and rolled his eyes, “what do you two want?”
The fat squirrel bounced closer to him, its large feathery tail floating behind it like a long feather boa. It sat upright wringing its tiny forepaws like a penitent monk and stared up at him with its huge, brown eyes. Bork barely resisted the urge to swat the insufferably adorable rodent off the battlements.
“Bork,” said the fat squirrel, “be reasonable.”
Bork answered with a weighted groan, like a long suffering parent confronted by the incessant chatter of an excitable child. He set his crossbow and quiver down on the stone floor of the tower and open his worn leather knapsack. This was the third time today the two rodents had turned up and he was getting very sick of their excruciatingly adorable little faces. He fished deep into his bag and produced a lump of strong, foul-smelling cheese and some mouldy lumps of bread. The two squirrels watched him intently as he pulled a blunt rusty knife out of the bag and cut several thick slices from the repugnant cheese. The fat squirrel grey increasingly incensed by Bork’s silence and his meticulous culinary preparations. The rodents’ expectant little faces and bright eyes following his every movement as he slowly built his foul ingredients into a thick ploughman’s sandwich. Bork ignored them completely and busied himself with the delicate business of constructing his lunch.
“Bork you ingrate,” snapped the fat squirrel. “How can you sit there stuffing your stupid face while we’re in trouble like this?”
Bork looked over the mould spotted sandwich at the squirrel, shrugged and took a huge bite. He chewed it slowly and carefully before swallowed it with a noisy gulp. The fat rodent shook his tiny fist at Bork who simply ignored him and wandered over to the battlements to glower angrily at the insufferably green and pleasant landscape. The fat squirrel bounded along the wall till its tiny face was inches from the end of his long pointed nose. He looked at the ridiculously cute little beast and gave out a low guttural laugh.
“Come on Bork,” pleaded the squirrel, “you know we would help you out if it was you in this mess, we goblins have got to stick together.”
“You want me to be reasonable?” said Bork almost choking on his pungent sandwich. “If I remember right, you ended up in this mess because you didn’t want to be reasonable.”
The fat squirrel shrugged, “Okay, I admit, I might have misjudged the old guy.”
Bork flicked a loose stone off the top of the ramparts and watched it spin down into the leafy canopy many feet below. He glanced down at the fat squirrel and briefly wondered if he would fall faster than the stone but a tiny glimmer of loyalty prevented him from testing his theory.
“Listen Moti, you can’t go around threatening wizards with union rules, don’t you remember what happened to your uncle Barg?” said Bork waving his half eaten sandwich under the squirrel’s nose for emphasis.
The fat squirrel cocked his head to one side and scratched behind his ear with his thick hind leg. “What my father’s third brother, he was eaten by a giant pike wasn’t he? He always was a bit of an odd one. Goblins shouldn’t try to be fishermen, it’s just not natural. Then, Grandma always said he was touched in the head.”
“No that was Barg Mushroonbiter, I meant Barg Spitweasel.”
The podgy grey rodent scratched its head with one of its forepaws and screwed up its furry face in deep concentration. “Ah you mean my mother’s brother, the one that worked for Nicodemus the Black?”
Bork nodded carefully, “That’s the one; you remember what happened to him?”
The rodent looked up at Bork with his bright eyes and shuddered violently. Bork nodded sagely and waved his two hands above his head like rabbit ears.
“We’ve got to do something though, and quick, Arky is going native,” said the squirrel as he pointed to his skinny companion. The other squirrel sat with his back to them, chewing his way through an impressively large pile of acorns. Occasionally he would bite deeply into one that had started to go off, shudder comically and then spat the half chewed acorn off the battlements. In between acorns he was giggling happily to himself, totally oblivious to the world around him. Bork could see that Arky’s incessant happy giggling was beginning to take its toll on Moti’s sanity. The fat squirrel’s tiny hands had balled up into fists and his right eye was twitching unhealthily.
“Arky, put those damn acorns down and get over here,” barked the Moti.
Arky meanwhile had looked around dully at the sound of his name. He gathered the pile of acorns into his arms and waddled over to join his paunchy companion. It looked dismissively towards Bork, sat down lazily and produced a half chewed acorn from its cheek pouches. Moti glowered malevolently at Arky, well as malevolently as cute little squirrel could glower at anything. The skinny squirrel didn’t take any notice as it returned to the important business of chewing noisily on the tasty nut.
“He seems quite happy,” said Bork glancing over at the sickeningly happy little creature.
“Arky, you are the most useless excuse for a Goblin I’ve ever had the misfortune to be turned into a rodent with,” screamed the fat squirrel.
Bork looked around nervously and bent in close to whisper to Moti, “Damn it, keep it down or you’ll get me in trouble. I told the boss that I’d fed you to the wolves; if he finds out different he’ll turn me into something worse than a squirrel.”
“Bork, you’ve got to help us,” pleaded the squirrel. “Look at us, we’re cute, we can’t be cute we’re black-hearted goblin mercenaries.”
Bork laughed cruelly, “No, I’m a black-hearted goblin mercenary; you’re a pair of tasty looking snacks that would go good with some mushrooms.”
The fat squirrel recoiled in surprise, “You wouldn’t dare. It’s against the rules to eat a shop steward anyway, even during a famine.”
“It’s against the rules to eat a Goblin shop steward,” Bork corrected him. “Nobody said anything about eating a squirrel shop steward.”
“Just you try it,” said Moti with a flash of his sharp incisors. “I’ll bit your nose right off your stupid green face.”
“Listen, Moti” said Bork, “I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll have a look around and see if there’s an antidote to the spell he cast on you.”
“Don’t talk rot,” snapped Moti. “You know as well as I do, the only way to break a spell is to do in the wizard that cast it.”
Bork was surprised by what the little rodent was implying, especially since Moti had always such a stickler for the rules. He had been one of the driving forces behind the Goblin Mercenary Union in the first place. Maybe being turned into a cute furry animal was a fate worse than death, thought Bork, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to throw out the rulebook. Instinctively Bork reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book with a stylised goblin skull on the cover. He opened it up and began to scan through the extensive contents page. His questing fingers ran lightly and quickly over the yellowing and badly stained pages past entry after entry. The rulebook contained regulations for just about anything a goblin could think of, arranged in helpful alphabetical order. Bork flicked rapidly through the index to the letter H and then scanned down through the entries for haddock, hairpieces, hatches and helmets until his cracked yellow fingernails stopped on the entry for Homicide, Client. He scowled uneasily at the heavy bold type that indicated the importance of that particular section.
“Right here we are, Article eighty-six, subsection four, paragraph eight,” said Bork as he pointed to a rambling piece of text in the dog eared book. “No contracted member of the Union shall renege on a contract so long as the client is alive and well.”
“I know what it says,” snapped the rodent. “These are extenuating circumstances, try looking that up.”
“How do you spell extenuating?” asked Bork as he started to flick through the rulebook once more.
The dull thud of an acorn bouncing off his thick bony forehead rudely interrupted his research. He glanced up at Moti who shook his tiny rodent fist and threatened to throw another. “That was a joke you useless git,” said Moti. “You don’t really think I’d put rules for extenuating circumstances in that thing, do you?”
“Don’t snap at me fuzz ball,” replied Bork waggling his stubby, green finger towards the incensed rodent. “If you hadn’t been so keen on quoting all these rules to him, the boss might not have turned you into a squirrel.”
“He should just have paid us the proper rates then,” Growled Moti.
“Look Bork,” said Moti, “you want to follow the rules and do a good job. I respect that, I really do, but sometimes you’ve got to throw the rulebook out of the window and make decisions for yourself.”
Bork sighed heavily and closed the rulebook with heavy thud. He stared out at the incessantly cheerful summer’s day and shook his head. It was a difficult decision, should he betray his oath to the Union and help his fellow goblins or should he uphold their proud traditions and leave them to their fate? The thick green vein on Bork’s forehead pulsed faster and faster as he mulled over the possible consequences of either choice. His imagination bounced into the future of each possible course, and he shuddered with dread at what he saw. In one possible future he defied the wizard and was blasted into his component atoms, in another he defied his fellow goblins and woke up choking to death on dozens of acorns. Neither of the two fates really appealed to Bork, it seemed to be a choice between a quick, painful death and a slow, humiliating one.
“Damn it, he’s going to blow a fuse,” remarked Moti as he watched the dark pupils of Bork’s red eyes bounced back and forth reflecting the wrangling going on within the goblin’s thick skull. Thinking quickly he snatched up a large acorn from Arky’s pile and sent it ricocheting off Bork’s forehead.
The tiny impact was enough to break through Bork’s intense moral contemplations and he rubbed his forehead carefully and said, “Will you stop doing that?”
“I’ll stop it when you agree to help us out,” replied Moti. “Show a little solidarity here and stop thinking about your own skin for once.”
“I’m a black-hearted goblin mercenary,” said Bork. “I’m supposed to be thinking about my own skin.”
“Well, let how about if I put this a different way,” said Moti with a sly, buck-toothed grin. “The old man has a lot of valuables lying around doesn’t he?”
Bork’s eyes flashed greedily, he had seen the expensive tapestries and gold ornaments lying around the tower. His expert eye had been appraising their value since they had minute the wizard had hired them on. He unconsciously licked his thin, cruel green lips and wondered how much the whole tower might be worth. Then a second more recent memory stopped him dead in his tracks, much as poor old Snor Beetlewig had been stopped by a blast of lightning when he touched one of the Wizard’s statues. Bork looked at the expectant little face of Moti and shook his head and said, “Nice try, but all his stuff is booby-trapped.”
“True, but they’re all magical booby-traps,” replied Moti. “They’ll be fine once we off him.”
Bork picked up his crossbow and sighed resignedly. “Fine I’ll see what I can do, but you owe me Moti, you owe me big.”
“Good,” said Moti with a wide buck-toothed grin. “Off you go then.”
“Oh no you don’t, you’re coming with me,” said Bork.
Moti folded his arms and shook his head emphatically, “Not a chance, he already turned me into a rat with a feather boa pinned to it’s butt, there’s no way I’m going to get flash fried as well.”
“If that’s how you want to play it,” said Bork, his red eyes narrowing evilly.
Moti opened his mouth to answer but Bork suddenly lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of him. He squeaked with alarm and bounced out of the way leaving the goblin snatching at empty air.
Bork bellowed with surprise and began to chase Moti around and around the battlements. The small and nimble squirrel moved with effortless grace and speed, bouncing and leaping from stone to stone. Bork meanwhile thundered after him, his heavy hobnailed boots clattering loudly on the bare stonework. To begin with the chase was ridiculously one sided, Moti easily twisted and bounded away from Bork leaving the frustrated Goblin running in confused circles. Moti laughed and taunted Bork mercilessly, sometimes waiting until the very last minute before bounding safely out of reach. Slowly however the mismatched contest began to swing in favour of Bork, his greater size meant he used far less energy than the tiny squirrel. With each passing Moti’s movements became less and less sprightly and moment by moment, Bork’s wild lunges and dives drew closer to his elusive target. Finally Bork managed to grab Moti by the tail and lift him into the air. The furious rodent squeaked loudly and struggled violently as he tried to escape.
“Let go of my tail you lummox or I’ll chew your head off,” growled Moti as he twisted and fought against Bork’s grip
“You sure?” said Bork as he swung the struggling rodent out over the battlements and dangled him high above the forest floor.
Moti’s brown eyes almost popped out of their sockets as he looked down at the at the wizard’s herb garden far below. He looked around desperately for a nearby tree or overhang but there was no way he could reach any of them if Bork dropped him. He sighed resignedly and said, “OK Bork, you win.”
Bork smiled wickedly and set Moti down safely on the battlements. The little rodent sat down to catch his breath and shook his furry little fist at Bork. The goblin simply laughed at the ridiculousness of being threatened by a cute little squirrel.
“What about Arky?” asked Bork.
They looked over towards Arky who had abandoned his dwindling pile of acorns and was standing on the edge of the battlements clapping his front paws excitedly. The wiry rodent was staring intently into the forest below, obviously very excited about something that he had seen.
“He’s no use to anyone,” said Moti as he stuck out his tongue and drew circles around his ear to indicate just exactly how much use he thought his fellow rodent would be.
Bork had to look away to keep from vomiting in disgust at how insufferably cute his friend looked even when he was trying to be sarcastic. He walked over to the ramparts and looked over in the direction where Arky seemed to be watching. How depressing he thought, the damned forest is still here and as verdant and insufferably green as ever. He shaded his eyes against the uncomfortably bright sunlight but he could see nothing but a few disgustingly adorable woodland animals. The woodland glade remained peaceful and deserted, just as it had been every hour of every day since they had arrived.
“Fine,” said Bork, “we’ll need to do it ourselves.”
Bork swung the fat rodent up onto his shoulder and heaved open the heavy oak trapdoor, hot spicy air wafted up from the dimly lit stairs below and stung at his eyes. Bork waved away the thick curling wafts of grey smoke and started down the ancient stone steps.
“Smells like he’s making potions again, must be in his study,” remarked Moti.
Bork made his way down the dimly lit stairway, somewhere above he could hear Arky chattering happily and he wondered absently what the wiry squirrel had seen in the forest. He could feel Moti’s tiny paw gripping the thick flesh of his ears for balance as the rodent stood on his shoulder. They quickly crossed the tower’s attic striding past various dust coated odds and ends of furniture and magical paraphernalia to a doorway that lead to the tower’s main stairwell.
Bork descended the narrow spiral staircase slowly and cautiously, he wasn’t sure why, after all he was supposed to be there but somehow it seemed right to be sneaky. The stairs connected every floor of the tower from the attic to the entrance hall seven stories below. Large stain glassed windows as spaced at regular intervals between floors allowing the light and warmth of the summer’s day to penetrate the dark and dank interior. Each floor of the tower had a landing and a heavy oak door leading to the room or rooms beyond, and on each landing stood a statue of a humanoid. Bork didn’t like the statues, they were too lifelike and their dead eyes seemed to follow him as he passed. He stuck close to the shadows, fearful that the strange sculptures would betray his approach to the wizard.
The air inside the tower grew more and more pungent as they descended the narrow spiral stairs, it smelt overpoweringly of strange spices and incense that made Bork’s eyes water. Bork stopped at every landing and listened carefully at the heavy oak doors that lead to the interior. The uppermost floors were given over to storage and the wizard’s private chambers. When he heard nothing from within, Bork entered and checked the rooms thoroughly. The wizard had collected thousands of valuable books, pieces of artwork and obscure artefacts. Bork licked his lips unconsciously at the wealth contained in the wizard’s chambers and he mentally noted any valuable items that he would come back for once the wizard was out of the picture.
“Bork, get a move it’ll all be here once we off him,” whispered Moti.
Bork nodded and returned to the stairwell. He descended more slowly now, the wizard’s study was on the next level and it seemed likely he would be inside. Their only chance was to take the mage by surprise, before he could bring his magical powers to bear. Bork crept cautiously down the dozen spiral steps until he could just make out the edge of the door frame for the study around the corner of the stairs. His hobnailed boots clicked loudly with each step and Bork stopped every few steps to listen for any sign of alarm from the levels below.
“What are you sneaking about for you idiot,” whispered Moti. “You’re supposed to be here remember, it’s not like we’ve broken in.”
Bork knew Moti was right, the wizard had hired them to patrol the tower and it wouldn’t have batted an eyelid if he had stomped up and down the stairs playing a huge drum. Still it somehow seemed appropriate to Bork that he should sneak about when on his deadly errand. They couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong, killing a wizard was a dangerous business and doubly so if it was an evil arch-mage like their employer. It was all very well being stabbed to death or crushed or even burned at the stake but a wizard with access to all the powers of the cosmos could surely summon up a great many fates that were far worse than violent death.
Bork flattened himself against the wall and peeked around towards the heavy oak door to the study, it was firmly closed. He relaxed a little, at least it the wizard probably hadn’t heard them coming. He gestured towards the ornate door with his crossbow and whispered, “Take a look and see what he’s up to.”
“What? Why me?” protested the Moti.
“Well you see, I’m big and you, well you’re small, very small. It’s easy to notice me peeking round a door, where as with you, well it’s not so easy is it?”
Moti shrugged, he couldn’t argue with Bork’s logic and even if he had tried, he was still only a foot high squirrel. He climbed down Bork’s back and scampered lightly across the floor towards the heavy oak door. He leaned his small ear against the rough wood and listened for any sign of life on the other side. A faint rhythmic chant floated through the door, the wizard was definitely inside. Moti took a deep preparatory breath and tried to push the door open but he was too small and light to move it. He gestured angrily up at the door and shook his small fist at Bork.
Bork sneaked carefully over to join Moti and leaned his back against the stone door frame. He glanced up at the statue and stained glass window opposite and shuddered. The marble sculpture bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Snor Beetlewig, perhaps too much of a resemblance to be a coincident thought Bork. A small nip on his ankle brought him back to his senses, he looked down to see Moti gesturing angrily at the doorway and brandishing his chunky wedge shaped incisors. It’s too late to back out now I guess, thought Bork as he reached a trembling hand towards the door latch.
Bork opened the door as carefully and stealthily as he could, he prayed under his breath that the its hinges wasn’t in need of oil or prone to creaking when it moved. He didn’t dare further than was absolutely necessary for Moti to fit his head through. Past experience had shown him that the wizard was far more observant and aware than you would expect from his bookish pursuits.
Moti sucked in another deep breath, stuck his head through the small gap and looked quickly around the large room. It covered that entire floor of the tower and was sumptuously decorated with several fine armchairs, expensive tapestries and shelves containing hundreds of arcane tomes. Several heavy tables strewn with magical apparatus, notebooks and scrolls surround the room. Half-a-dozen braziers full of foul smelling incense stood at the points of an ornate hexagram drawn on the wooden floor in what looked like blood. Thick grey smoke was pouring from each one adding to the already pungent atmosphere of the room. The Wizard stood in the centre of the hexagram, mumbling incantations and gesturing wildly at thin air. Moti shuddered; his present predicament had given him a healthy fear of the magical arts.
The wizard a middle-aged human with raven black hair and a vicious hawk like face was deeply engrossed in one of his inscrutable magical experiments. His arms waved in great sweeps, made all the more dramatic by the heavy black robes he was wearing and chanted under his breath. Moti noted thankfully that his eyes were closed and that he was obviously deep in concentration over his arcane task.
Satisfied with what he had seen, Moti cautiously drew his head back out of the study and whispered to Bork, “It looks like he’s cooking something up in there. What’s the plan?”
“Simple you distract him and I’ll ventilate him,” whispered Bork.
“Hold on a minute, why do I have to distract him?”
“Well unless you’ve got a deadly squirrel sized crossbow hidden somewhere in that stupid tail of yours, I’m going to have to do the shooting.”
“Great.”
“Just get on with it, unless you want to stay a squirrel?”
Moti shook his head and peeked around the edge of the door, the wizard was still standing in the middle of the room chanting. Moti squeezed through the narrow gap into the large room, a quick glance at the Wizard told Moti that the sorcerer still hadn’t notice his entrance.
Moti looked around carefully at his surroundings, and thought to himself, how can I distract the wizard without getting flash-fried? There didn’t seem to be much that would aid him in his mission and he shook his head dejectedly. Maybe there’s something I can tip over on those desks, he thought as he bounded silently across the carpeted floor. He quickly scaled the leg of the nearest mahogany desk but his heart sank, much of the apparatus was fixed to the desk itself with strong screws and everything else was too heavy for him to move. He cursed under his breath about being stuck in a rodent’s body and resolved himself to a more direct if less subtle course of action. He looked up at the wizard once more to check that he hadn’t been spotted and then bounded lightly into the middle of the room, his fluffy tail trailing behind him like a feathery plume of smoke. The wizard continued to chant mechanically, apparently oblivious to his approach.
“Oi! Beardy, check out my magic beans!” shouted Moti as he bent over and flashed his backside at the wizard.
The wizard’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Moti’s voice and Moti almost laughed out loud at the momentary look of surprise and confusion on the sorcerer’s face. The wizard’s confusion passed in an instant as he realised who and what the rodent was. His eye’s flashed with rage and he waved his arms in a complicated gesture towards Moti.
With the keen sense of self preservation that comes naturally to goblins and indeed squirrels, Moti had already begun to bounce across the floor away from the enraged wizard. He headed straight for the door to the stairwell, hoping that he could reach it before the wizard recovered his wits. He glanced back momentarily and instantly regretted it. A crackling bolt of lighting had exploded from the wizard’s fingertips and was speeding towards him. Moti threw himself aside, hoping that the lighting couldn’t turn corners. He felt the white heat of the lighting as it flash past, missing him by inches and singing his fur. The crackling fork of white energy exploded against the stone floor like a hammer striking an anvil sending white hot sparks of stone flying in all directions. The wizard cursed unintelligibly and hurled another bolt of energy, but Moti managed to zigzag out of the way and take cover beneath an ornate armchair by the fireplace.
Outside the door Bork had heard Moti shout and he had winced at the sound of the crackling lighting bolt smashing into the stone floor. His moment had come, and he knew he would only get one chance. His heart was in his mouth as he threw open the heavy door and ran into the study, crossbow at the ready. He could tell with one glance that the Wizard was in a black rage, his evil hawkish face had contorted into a terrible vicious growl and he was hurling crackling arcs of lighting at a nearby armchair. The wizard shot Bork a momentary look and since the sorcerer didn’t instantly vaporise him the goblin assumed that the Wizard was oblivious to their plot against him.
“Damn you goblin, I told you I must not be disturbed,” roared the Wizard. “The Magnus Oculus is almost within my grasp, have you any idea what effect this interruption might have on the ritual? Now deal with this impertinent vermin before I turn both of you into sentient horseradishes.”
“Bork you idiot, what are you waiting for?” shouted Moti from underneath the half destroyed armchair. “Shoot him.”
Bork swung his crossbow up and took careful aim at the wizard. He knew he couldn’t afford to miss, the sorcerer was fully alert to the threat and if given the chance could call on untold magical power against which Bork had no defence. Bork knew there would be no time for a second shot as he carefully lined up the wizard’s head right in the middle of his circular iron sights and squeezed the trigger. The thick bowstring twanged and the heavy bolt shot across the room straight towards its target. The Wizard made no attempt to avoid the deadly missile; in fact he didn’t seem all that concerned at all about his imminent demise.
The bolt flew straight and true and, if truth be told, it was probably the most accurate shot of Bork’s life. Well at least it was until everything went horribly wrong. Unbelievably the bolt suddenly stopped dead in mid flight and just hung there, inches from the wizard’s face. The human smiled smugly and snatched the deadly missile out of the air. He examined it for a moment and then dismissively threw it into a distant corner of the room.
“What in the fifteen hells?” said Bork as he glanced back and forth from his crossbow to the altogether too haughty and intact face of the wizard. Bork was transfixed, his conscious mind utterly dumfounded by this sudden but not altogether unexpected turn of events. Somewhere deep within Bork’s brain alarm bells began to sound and his subconscious ordered his legs into immediate reverse. His body twisted involuntarily beneath him and he felt his arms and legs beginning to pump, trying instinctively to escape whatever heinously cruel fate the wizard planned for him. He heard the Wizard laughed cruelly and threw a look back over his shoulder just as a blast of multicoloured light shot from the Wizard’s claw like hands. It flashed across the room and enveloped Bork before his brain could even begin to process what was happening.
Bork felt light headed and the room started to spin around him and then his crossbow was pulled from his hand by some unseen force. He tried to run towards the door but no matter how hard he pumped his legs he didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Confused he glanced down and was startled to see that he was floating almost a foot above the floor. His body spun around and floated back towards the Wizard.
“You didn’t honestly think this amateur plan would work did you?” laughed the Wizard as he walked around Bork’s helpless levitating form.
The wizard waved his hand and Bork shot straight up and crashed against the stone. He tried to struggle but he found to his horror that his arms and legs were pinned in place by some vast, unseen force. Bork looked on helplessly as the wizard picked up his crossbow and examined it.
“Such a crude weapon,” laughed the wizard as he turned the crossbow over in his hands to examine it. Then like an adult examining a child’s toy he set it down on a nearby work bench and turned his attention back towards the half incinerated. He waved his arm dismissively and the chair flew up into the air revealing a startled Moti cowering underneath.
Moti yelped in surprise and started to run towards one of the other armchairs in search of sanctuary. The wizard however had other ideas and he waved his hands in a complex motion that launched another flash of multicoloured light from his outstretched finger. The light enveloped Moti as he ran and lifted him into the air then with a dismissive wave of his hand the wizard sent the startled rodent flying up onto the ceiling besides Bork. The sorcerer stood directly underneath the immobilised squirrel and drew his hand across his neck in a menacing slicing action while laughing evilly. Moti growled back at the wizard and tried to spit in his eye, something quite beyond the capability of his current form. The sorcerer meanwhile simply snorted and shook his head in pity at the ridiculous face the captive rodent had pulled. Even Bork had to close his eyes tight and dig his sharp, pointed teeth into his tongue to avoid laughing out loud at the absurdity of the scene before him.
The wizard quickly grew bored of the impudent rodent and resumed his arcane invocations, occasionally pausing to study one of the thick tomes that lay scatted around. Bork’s eyelids slowly began to droop as he listened to the deeply monotonous drone from below. He had all but given up hope of getting out of the situation alive, after all they were both pinned to the ceiling and their only remaining ally was a halfwit squirrel.
The wizard continued to chant beneath them and Bork noticed the volume and cadence seemed to be increasing as time went on. As magically ignorant as Bork was, even he could ritual was obviously approaching some kind of climax. He could see a thin mist beginning to form within the heart of the hexagram on the floor and the room seemed to be growing colder and darker. Very quickly the wisp of grey vapour grew into a thick, cylindrical cloud. The wizard continued to chant, his eyes fixed solidly on the forming column of fog. The sorcerer’s invocation grew more and more fevered with each passing moment and Bork noticed tiny sparks of lighting inside the thick cloud. Bork was fascinated, he had never seen such powerful magic being cast before and the spell had obviously reached a critical stage.
“Hey Bork,” whispered Moti, “Watch this.”
Bork glanced away from the scene below towards his friend and instantly wished he hadn’t. Moti seemed to be making faces at the Wizard again. Bork was about to tell the belligerent squirrel not to antagonise the sorcerer any further when he realised the rodent was urinating on the wizard’s head. Bork watched in horror as the stream of yellow, foul smelling liquid soaked into the wizard’s hair and ran down over his brow. The wizard caught a whiff of the squirrel’s strong urine and his eyes snapped open. He stopped chanting, wiped away the liquid with his long sleeve and lightly touched the top of his head. The sorcerer pressed at the damp patch on top of his hair with his palm and then smelt his hand. His features contort in disgust and then quickly grew dark with rage. His face snapped upwards and he looked straight into Moti’s defiant little bright eyes. The outraged sorcerer muttered some arcane formula and a black nimbus of swirling energy formed around his clawed hands. Moti’s eyes grew wide with fright as he realised he may have gone too far this time.
Bork closed his eyes as the Wizard raised his hands ready to unleash whatever manner of arcane violence he had concocted. He hoped that the wizard would at least be merciful enough to blast them both into their component atoms, it wasn’t ideal but Bork was sure there were far worse things the sorcerer could do to them.
Suddenly a huge explosion burst inside the room and sent Bork’s brain rattling around inside his head. He heard Moti scream in what he assumed was agony and began to scream as well, more out of fear than any real pain. An unpleasant sensation of falling downwards followed the explosion, and was abruptly terminated by a bone crunching impact on something hard and solid. He could hear shouting and the ring of metal and metal all around him. Bork kept his eyes tightly shut for fear that he would open them and find that he was dead and condemned to an eternity in one of the fifteen goblin hells.
“Bork you idiot, wake up,” squeaked Moti.
Well at least I’m not here myself thought Bork as he tentatively open one eye to check his surroundings. He was pleasantly relieved when he realised that he was still in the wizard’s study and that Moti was desperately punching the end of his green pointed nose. His relief didn’t last long however as he noticed that the door to the stairwell and much of the fine furniture had been smashed to pieces.
“What in the fifteen hells happened?” asked Bork as he leapt nervously to his feet.
“Heroes,” said Moti with a shrug. “What else.”
Bork quickly scanned the room, it was a total shambles of splintered furniture, smashed glass and scattered books. The partially incinerated and smoking corpse of an elf was lying near the smashed doorway, obviously the work of the wizard. His eyes stopped at the strange hexagram in the centre of the room. The column of smoke had burst into what looked like flame and seemed to be pushing hard against some unseen barrier formed by the symbol on the floor. He edged closer to examine the burning cylinder, it didn’t seem to give out any heat or light and an involuntary shudder ran down Bork’s spine as he looked at it. It almost seemed to look back at him, and the deeper he tried to look the more uncomfortable he felt.
“What happened to the wizard?” asked Bork.
Moti pointed towards the floor, “he just dropped right through it.”
“We better get out of here,” said Bork. “If we’re lucky they’ll kill him for us and you’ll change back.”
Bork scooped Moti up onto his shoulder and sneaked towards the broken door and poked his head out into the stairwell. He could hear shouting and explosions from one of the lower levels of the tower. The wizard obviously wasn’t going down without a fight he thought.
“There’s only one door to this damn keep,” said Moti.
Bork knew that Moti was right; if they couldn’t get past the battle below they were both dead. He motioned to Moti to stay quiet and started to sneak towards the landing on the level below.
He had hoped that the heroes would be too distracted dealing with the wizard to worry about an unarmed goblin. Unfortunately he had only managed to descend a couple of steps before he came face to face with a burly human warrior in plate armour.
“Have at thee foul creature,” bellowed the armoured warrior as he brandished a huge two handed sword.
“Foul creature? That’s not very nice is it?” said Bork showing his empty palms to the warrior, hoping to appeal to the human’s sense of fair play.
The human however had no interest in giving quarter to a goblin and swung his sword in a great flashing arc directly at Bork’s neck. The surprised goblin fell onto his backside and had to scramble frantically backwards up the stairs to avoid losing his head. Bork turned around and scuttled as fast as he could up the flights of stone steps towards the roof. The brawny human advanced up the stairs after Bork, swinging his large sword whenever he thought he had a chance of hitting the fleeing goblin.
Bork burst through the open trapdoor onto the roof of the tower, panting heavily with the human hot on his heels. Moti bounced off his shoulder and hopped up onto the battlements ready to scurry down the rough wall if the need arose. Bork heaved the heavy trapdoor closed and then cursed under his breath. There was no latch on it and it wouldn’t delay the burly human more than a moment. He glimpsed Arky hopping from foot to foot and clapping excitedly at the commotion but he ignored the tiny rodent and looked around desperately for an escape route off the exposed roof.
He looked down over the battlements and cursed under his breath, it was too high to jump and there wasn’t enough time for him to climb down. He glanced over towards the trapdoor just as the human’s armoured head emerged. Bork drew back and pressed himself against the battlements hoping that the human wouldn’t notice him but unfortunately the warrior made a beeline straight towards the hapless goblin.
“Prepare to die monster!” said the human as he raised his sword, ready to bring it down on Bork’s head.
Bork closed his eyes and prayed for deliverance to every god, spirit and abstract logical principle that he could think of. Surprisingly for Bork his pleas were suddenly answered by an outraged roar from the human and the clatter of metal on stone. He’s just teasing me, thought Bork, hoping I’ll plead for mercy no doubt. Well this goblin doesn’t beg, he told himself as he opened his eyes slowly. and then rubbed them to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
The human was running around the top of the tower, desperately scratching and pawing at his mail armour. Arky was clapping and running around after the human, obviously greatly amused by the clownish antics of the burly man. Bork too watched in bewildered amusement as the big man tried desperately to rip off his armour to get at the source of the irritation. His great sword lay discarded nearby and he was cursing roundly at a small moving lump under his armour. Suddenly Bork saw a tiny grey head peek out from under the warrior’s mail shirt and wink at him. He smiled as he recognised Moti’s sickeningly cute little face and nodded his understanding of the signal. His eyes narrowed evilly as he watched the human blundering around the rooftop and he watched carefully for the right moment to strike.
The human weaved and staggered around the rooftop like a drunkard, slowly drawing closer to one of the westernmost set of battlements. When he crashed against the stonework Bork lunged forward and pushed him over. Moti meanwhile had the good sense to realise what the goblin was up to and jump clear as the human went tumbling over the edge to his death.
“You were supposed to hit him with the sword you idiot,” said Moti as he hopped up onto the ramparts and looked at the bloody mess far below.
“Didn’t think of that,” admitted Bork with a shrug.
A sudden explosion rocked the tower and knocked Bork off his feet. It was followed by another blast and then another, each one more powerful than the last.
“What in the fifteen hells is going on now?” asked Bork as he picked himself up off the ground.
“Sounds like it came from the study,” said Moti looking over the edge of the battlements. “Maybe that weird fire thing’s gotten loose?”
Bork opened his mouth to say they had better get the hell out of there but he was interrupted by a fourth explosion that was far larger than the others. So large in fact that it rocked the entire tower and knocked the surprised goblin onto his backside. He sat there for a long moment, shaking his head at this fresh indignity and cursing his continuing bad luck. In fact he may well have sat there lamenting his fate until the tower collapsed but for a sudden sharp nip of teeth on his leg. He glanced up to see Moti jumping up and down on his leg and gesticulating in what Bork assumed was the squirrel form of dire panic
“You bit me, again,” said Bork.
“Pull yourself together Bork the whole tower’s falling apart,” said Moti as he clambered up onto Bork’s shoulder and gripped onto the goblin’s ear
Bork stood up gingerly; he was convinced that he could feel the tower swaying with every movement. He made his way slowly and carefully towards the trap door, somewhere below he heard more shouting and several smaller explosions. He glanced quickly around the roof and said “Where’s Arky?”
“I think he already climbed down the outside wall,” said Moti as he looked around.
Lucky him, thought Bork, it looks like being turned into a squirrel hadn’t been so bad for Arky, at least he would probably make it out of the tower alive.
Bork made his way carefully over to the trapdoor, there was no way to tell how long the tower would stay upright. His only chance was to make it down the stairs as fast as possible and out of the front door. He hoped that the battle on the lower levels was keeping everyone else too occupied to worry about a lone goblin.
Bork moved down the stairs as carefully as he could. He listened carefully at each landing for any sign of the wizard or the group of heroes that had attacked the tower. He quickly made it as far as the shattered door leading to the study, a quick glance inside showed that the strange column of fire was still contained in its arcane prison. Well that’s one less thing to worry about thought Bork to himself.
He stopped once more and listened for any sign of trouble from the levels below but everything was deathly quiet except for a faint and troubling grinding of stone on stone. This place is going to come down thought Bork grimly as he turned and hurried down the remaining flights of stairs.
The final set of stairs were more difficult to negotiate, several large pieces of masonry had been blasted loose from the walls and had partly blocked the narrow stair. Bork had to clamber over them or even move some of the small rocks to allow him to squeeze through. It was slow going and Bork worried constantly about how long the tower would continue to stand. The damage grew worse the further down he went and it seemed to be at its worst when he finally reached the ground floor.
Two blackened and burned corpses in half melted armour were lying at the foot of the stair, the stout oak door had been reduced to a combination of fine ash and match sized splinters. The stonework of the stairwell was heavily scored by burn marks and impacts from weapons. The wizard had obviously pulled out all the stops when the heroes had attacked him, thought Bork as he surveyed the damage. Miraculously the sinister statue was still intact, standing guard in the alcove of the stained glass window. Bork looked up at it and winced, it was a perfect likeness for the wizard himself and its blank white eyes had always made him nervous.
Bork and Moti peeked around the smashed door frame into the great hall, inside was a shambles of char-grilled corpses and smashed furniture. Several gaping holes had been blasted in the foot thick stone walls and Bork shuddered to think what such a blast might have done to whoever it was aimed at. Bork looked around for the Wizard but he couldn’t see him amongst the dead. He stepped carefully into the great hall, checking the corners for any sign of an ambush. He trod lightly across the blackened and smouldering stone floor, carefully skirting around several newly created jagged holes that lead to the cellar below. Ever the goblin entrepreneur, Bork couldn’t resist stopping to relieve several of the corpses of any valuables that had survived their owner’s violent immolation.
Suddenly Bork heard a cough from somewhere in the ruined room, he stopped trying to pull a gold ring from one of the blackened corpses and looked around carefully. His eyes locked onto a blackened and burned figure that was lying
He cautiously tapped the body with his the toe of his heavy boots, it coughed and spluttered indignantly and started to turn over. Bork’s mouth open dropped in surprise as he recognised the wizard. He was badly burned and terribly injured but somehow, through some infernal pact or arcane means he had managed to survive the titanic battle in the hall.
The left half of the wizard’s face was burned and his good eye rolled back and forth sickeningly before he managed to finally focus on Bork’s face. The sorcerer bellowed inarticulacy and raised one of his clawed hands menacingly, lighting crackled along his long blackened fingers and shot past Bork missing his head by inches. Moti yelped in terror and bounded off Bork’s shoulder. The goblin meanwhile dived and rolled to safely as the wizard loosed off lighting bolts in random arcs towards him. Bork scrambled across the room towards the front door, but the wizard threw several lighting bolts between the frantic goblin and his goal. Bork back away from the arcs of deadly energy and ran back towards the door to the stairwell. Moti scampered after him quickly and they both took cover behind the menacing statue on the landing. The wizard continued to throw lighting bolts, his aim steadily improving as he grew used to his lack of depth perception.
Bork and Moti glanced around the statue and saw the wizard approaching. Even in his crippled state the sorcerer exuded pure malevolence, his scarred and blackened skinned only adding to his menacing appearance. He gurgled disgustingly from his badly burned throat and dragged himself towards the stairwell with his one good arm. He was determined that the traitorous goblin and that impudent squirrel would both pay for upsetting his plans. He spotted them peeking around the edge of the statue and threw another lightning bolt sending them ducking back behind the marble sculpture.
“Bork,” whispered Moti as the bolt of energy exploded against the statue, “what are we going to do?”
Bork looked around quickly in search of an escape route. He knew there was no way they reach the stairs without the wizard frying them, nor could they remain behind the statue as the wizard was rapidly whittling it away to get at them. There was only one other option, they would have to go out the window. Bork knew there was no time for hesitation; he grabbed Moti who yelped in surprise and plunged straight through the stained glass window. He winced as a bolt of lighting flash uncomfortably close to his head. He tumbled forwards, head over heels and the world seemed to spin around him. Moti flew out of his hands and Bork heard the rodent cursing blackly at his mistreatment by the goblin as he flew off through the air. Bork almost laughed out loud once more at the idea of being threatened by a tiny furry squirrel before a wave of uncontrolled panic reminded him he had an imminent appointment with the ground. In desperation he tried flapping his arms but humanoids are hardly renowned for their aerodynamic qualities and a quick glance downwards told him that it was a hopelessly ineffective strategy.
It’s an unfortunate fact that Goblins have never been particularly agile creatures and Bork was no exception, he landed heavily and with such force that he instantly knocked himself unconscious. His last conscious sight was of the tower collapsing in on itself like a deck of cards sending chunks of debris crashing down around him.
Bork awoke some time later with a pained groan. He was lying on his back looking up at the first ruddy streaks of dawn in the sky and ever single bit of his body was in agony. He had obviously been unconscious for quite a while as a thick porridge like layer of dust and plaster had adhered had coated him from head to toe on his front. He stood up and straightened his clothes while surveying the scenes of devastation all around him. At least I won’t have to worry about that damned wizard any more either I guess, he thought. An evil smile crossed his cruel lips when he noticed a pair of mangled, armoured legs protruding from under the broken stonework. He kicked the pair of legs a couple of times to make sure the owner was dead and then danced a jig on top of the pile of stones that covered the remains.
A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye and he instantly stopped his hobnailed tap dance. A piece of brick lying on top of a nearby pile of rubble was moving. Bork picked up a broken chair leg and edged warily towards the pile, ready to run at the slightest hint of danger. He reached out with the stick and prodded at the moving piece of masonry, carefully keeping his distance.
“Bloody heroes, why can’t they mind their own business?” snarled a voice as the loose stones fell away and a familiar furry face clambered out from underneath.
“Moti,” said Bork happily, “you’re ok!”
“I think so, I see you’re still alive anyway” said Moti as he shook the dust and plaster from his fur.
“Just about,” replied Bork. “You still a squirrel?”
“Looks that way,” said Moti dejectedly, “what about Arky?”
“I think he’s run off somewhere,” said Bork with a glance down at the Moti, “what about us, what are we going to do now?”
“The usual, rifle the bodies, pick up our gear and head home,” said Moti with a smile.